An overheard conversation

Recently I was in a local museum, walking from painting to painting. There was a couple ahead of me admiring the paintings.

“I will tell you, Carla. The woman does not look happy,” the man said.

“But, George, that’s cause she’s dead,” Carla said, then pinched her friend.

“Ouch! Why did you do that?”

Carla laughed. “Checking to see if you’re alive.”

“I’m alive? Of course, I’m alive,” George objected.

“You wouldn’t be happy if you were dead either.”

He stuck his tongue out at her, then said, “Then I wouldn’t have to put up with you.”

Carla puckered her lips. “Give us a kiss.” Her lips came close to George. He tried to move away. “C’mon. Give us a kiss, then I can bite that tongue off.”

He backed away from her. “You’d do that.”

“Course I would cause you’re such a downer.”

They took one final look at the Roman matriarch, then moved on.

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Near 500 words: Disagreements

Cameron, 21, stood before the painting and studied it. Finally, he said to Louise, “Raphael or no Raphael, that’s just too baroque for me.”

“You’re such a stick in the mud. You always have been, and you always will be. You probably wouldn’t like Vermeer.” Louise, 23, wore her light blue suit, and nothing could spoil her mood. Especially her brother.

“I love Vermeer. Wonderful light. And that girl with the pearl earring. I would have dated her.”

“Question is would she have dated you.”

“Course she would have. I’m not a bad looking fellow, and I do have my good points.”

“Name one.”

“I can name two. I like Vermeer and I’m your brother.”

“Aren’t you the smarty pants,” Louise said. “Just what is wrong with the Raphael?”

“It says it’s The Triumph of Galatea. Who the heck is Galatea anyway?”

“From some Greek story, I guess.”

“Another thing I don’t like. The women are supposed to be naked. It’s like Raphael has put skin suits on them. Nothing really showing. And all you get of the little guys with their wings is their butts. Geez, I don’t want to see a bunch of guys’ butts. If I did, I could look at mine in the mirror. Oh, I correct myself. There is one guy in the corner. You get to see his stuff.”

“It’s all supposed to be symbolic.”

“Symbolic?” Cameron snickered. “I think I’ve enough of this art for one day. Let’s go see a movie like you promised.”

“All right, but I get to pick the movie.”

“Oh, no. You picked the art. I’m picking the movie.”

They turned and headed for the entrance of the museum. They passed the guard and walked down the stairs to the street below.

“If you pick the movie,” Louise said, “you pay. I paid for the museum.”

“Want to get a dog and a coke?” he said, pointing to a hot dog stand over in the park.

As they hurried across the street, she said, “We’re not going to another one of those shoot ‘em ups you love. I absolutely forbid it.”

“Let’s go see ‘Heat’.”

They arrived at the hot dog stand.

“No. That’s another shoot ‘em up. Absolutely not.”

They took their food from the man and found a park bench. Cameron plopped down on the bench. Louise checked it for anything that would dirty her skirt. Finally, she sat down beside her brother. They both bit into their wieners.

“This is good,” Louise said to Cameron.

“This is good,” Cameron said to Louise.

The two looked out at the park and both smiled.

“This is the life,” Cameron said to his sister.

“This is the life,” Louise agreed. “Mom would be proud.”

“Yes, she would. We do agree on something.”

“But we’re not going to that movie.”

“It’s got De Niro and Pacino and there’s romance in it. I’m sure.”

“Over my dead body,” Louise said.

“That can be arranged. Maybe I’ll get Pacino to do the job.”

Louise laughed. “I’d rather it be De Niro.”